I'm On My Way to Believing
by The Yellow Rubber Ducky
Summary: Her stepfather is a jerk. Her biological father has disappeared. And her mother is just a shell of her former self. But she will pull through. For her mother. The story of the child of Percy and Annabeth Jackson.


**AN: For a change of pace, I decided to make a Percy/Annabeth child story. Hope you like it, or else I'll remove.**

**~EOA**

* * *

"Hey, honey."

I sat down in my mom's gray Prius, setting my bag down onto my lap.

"Hey, mom."

I'm Ashley Minerva Jackson. Daughter of Annabeth and Percy Jackson.

"How was school?" That was my mom. I shrugged.

"Good," I said. Unlike other kids, I dreaded going home. I hated what was waiting for me at home. My stepfather, Dennis Turner, was the devil's spawn. My real father, Percy Jackson, had disappeared a few months after my birth. Mom didn't like talking about him. We got out of the car, looking up at the dirty apartment building we lived in. I looked at my mom again. "Remind me again why you married this as--"

"Ash," my mom warned.

"This idiot," I finished, trying to blow off some steam.

"Ash, he's done a lot for us." I rolled my eyes.

"Of course. Saint Dennis," I retorted. She looked at me, her eyes saying, _Please don't get in trouble tonight. It will save us a lot of trouble. _I frowned unhappily, then nodded. Whatever it took for my mom.

She was hardcore. She disliked Dennis, too, and didn't want to bow down to him. Although she would be officially Annabeth Turner, she kept the last name of my dad. Jackson. I proudly hold the name as well.

* * *

"Annie!" called a gruff voice from the living room. My fists clenched tighter. My mother hated being called Annie. Dennis knew that.

"Yes, dear?" called my mother sweetly. This made me more angry.

"Time to collect the money!"

"Yes, Dennis."

Dennis gives my mother and I $100 dollars to spend for the week. If there's any left, he takes it back. The next Sunday, he gives us another $100. But every night, when we come back, he asks us what we bought, and looks at our reciepts. He tallies up the amounts. If there is some missing, he hounds it down. Or takes it off the next "payment/allowance".

They went into their master bedroom, leaving me in the living room. The TV flickered in front of me, playing some kind of football game.

I could hear Dennis' cruel voice from the bedroom, sneakily asking my mother what she did today.

My thoughts strayed to my father. My _real _father. Where was he? Did he really disappear?

I wondered what he looked like. My mother didn't mention if she had any pictures or not. Did he have mom's blond hair? Did he have green eyes, like me? Or did he have gray eyes, and the green had skipped a generation? I always imagined him whenever I felt sad. But it always came out wrong. For some reason, I imagined a guy, around mom's age, with black messy hair, and green eyes. But where did the black hair come from? _I _didn't have black hair.

Mom reentered the room. I swallowed the lump in my throat that I always got from imagining my father, and when Dennis called me to the bedroom.

With trembling hands, I took my purse and walked into the bedroom.

* * *

"WHERE IS THE MONEY, ASHLEY MINERVA TURNER?!"

Dennis' nasty morning breath fanned against my face. My anger level was almost breached, and I curled my hands into small fists. My breathing was heavy, as I struggled to contain my anger. My last name was Jackson, not Turner.

"I don't know, sir. Maybe the cashier miscounted, sir," I said, struggling to keep my cool. I was off by twenty-five cents.

He swelled.

"Didn't I teach you to count your change?!"

"Yes, sir."

* * *

I ran to my room, tears streaming down my face. I crumpled on the bed, sobbing softly.

I heard soft footsteps behind me. My mom.

"Ashley, it's gonna be okay, dear. I'm so sorry."

I wanted to get back at that creep. He acted like he owned us. My mom pulled me up into a sitting position. "Mom, why did you marry him? Why? You could've gotten someone better," I wailed quietly. She shushed me, rubbing my back in circles.

"You are so much like your father," she sighed, messing with a strand of my hair. My _father_. She had never talked about him-- not until now.

"What was he like? You never talk about him, but I want to know what he was like," I breathed. Her forhead pressed against the back of my head.

"He was a kind man. He wanted to give me practically the whole _world_. But I refused. I loved him so much, and couldn't let him give up everything for me. I didn't want any fancy cars, or jewels. I just wanted him." I listened intently to her. "But things changed. After we had you-- he was sent to fight Kro-- I mean, sent to be in the army."

"Why did he leave? He could've stayed-- he could've stayed here and have taken care of us. We wouldn't have to be with Dennis," I said. Suddenly, I was angry. This could've changed!

"The war he was fighting in was an important one. He was a general-- and he couldn't back down. As much as he loved us, Ash, he had to go. Don't be angry at your father. He went for a good cause," she said. Her gray eyes were watery.

"What did he look like? Did he look like me?"

She frowned thoughtfully.

"He had black hair-- very untidy--, seagreen eyes-- and an excellent smile. One of his cheery grins felt like they could take away all the problems. Like everything would be okay," she said, sounding elsewhere. It was like in my imagination. Was I really seeing my father?

"Annie!" called Dennis. My mom almost jumped out of the bed. She touched my face. She had this "healing" touch. Just like what she was saying about my dad's eyes. They made me think that everything would be okay-- that we would get through this. But her hand left my cheek, and the sad, angry feelings came back.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

"'Night, mom," I said remorsefully, curling up into the gray sheets of my bed, not even bothering to change.

* * *

**Review if you want me to continue!**


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